


I Do Believe His Mouth Is Heaven, His Kisses Falling Over Me Like Stars

by SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue)



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Camping, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Bucky Barnes, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Retirement, Rimming, Tent Sex, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladerunnerblue/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: "What, you didn’t get enough of that in the war, pal? We spent the majority of ‘44 fuckin’ camping with the Howlies, and I don't think Wilson really believes that a hug from the great outdoors is gonna magically cure us of seventy-odd-years worth of pain and suffering. It's just a ploy to get us away from him for a while.”“Oh, c’mon,” Steve rolls his eyes, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Where’s your sense of adventure!”Bucky shoots him a withering glare. “I’ve had enough ‘adventure’ to last three lifetimes, Steve, and unlike you, I'm not exactly jonesin’ to get up close and personal with the feral wildlife out there.”Steve cracks a smile at that, one of his patented shit-eating grins that definitely means a smart-ass remark is on the horizon."Aw, you’re not so bad, Buck. A little rabid, maybe, but--"Bucky sputters indignantly, and Steve cuts himself off with a loud bark of laughter. God damn it. Sometimes, Bucky absolutely hates being right."God, I hate you.""No you don't." Steve says with an infuriating air of confidence, because he’s right. For once.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 31
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiddiMidori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiddiMidori/gifts).



“He wants us to do _what_ now?” 

“Camping, Buck,” Steve answers with a shrug, not for the first time that evening. It’s an ordinary Wednesday in November, and they’re chatting on a video call tonight. Bucky in his shitty studio apartment and Steve in his cushy Stark Tower suite. There’s a jazz record playing softly in the background of the call, and the lighting on Steve’s end is warm and cozy, casting the former Avenger in a golden glow that has Bucky fighting to bite back the sigh on the tip of his tongue. 

_God_ , Steve’s so fucking beautiful. But like hell will Bucky ever tell him as much. He’s spent the better part of the past eighty years carefully masking the love he feels for Steve, hiding it underneath the guise of what most would think was just a close friendship. But at this point, Bucky’s far too afraid of the repercussions to veer away from it. Maybe one day he’ll grow a set of balls and actually have that long-overdue conversation with Steve, but as the wise Aragorn son of Arathorn once said, it is not this day!

Bucky has to laugh about it though. The most feared assassin of the twentieth century, with the highest record of confirmed kills under his belt, no less, is scared shitless by the prospect of rejection. _Christ_. Lukin must be rolling in his grave right about now.

Bucky makes a face, twisting his mouth into a scowl at the mere thought of that rat bastard.

“What, you didn’t get enough of that in the war, pal? We spent the majority of ‘44 fuckin’ _camping_ with the Howlies, and I don't think Wilson really believes that a hug from the great outdoors is gonna magically cure us of seventy-odd-years worth of pain and suffering. It's just a ploy to get us away from him for a while.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Steve rolls his eyes, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Where’s your sense of adventure!”

Bucky shoots him a withering glare. “I’ve had enough ‘adventure’ to last three lifetimes, Steve, and unlike you, I'm not exactly jonesin’ to get up close and personal with the feral wildlife out there.” 

Steve cracks a smile at that, one of his patented shit-eating grins that definitely means a smart-ass remark is on the horizon.

"Aw, you’re not so bad, Buck. A little rabid, maybe, but--"

Bucky sputters indignantly, and Steve cuts himself off with a loud bark of laughter. God damn it. Sometimes, Bucky absolutely _hates_ being right.

"God, I hate you."

"No, you don't," Steve says with an infuriating air of confidence because _he’s right._ For once.

Bucky sighs, scrubbing at his tired eyes with a pair of mismatched hands. "No," he concedes, "I don't."

The smile that lights up Steve’s face at that is damn-near blinding, like a ray of sunshine peeking out through an overcast sky. Steve’s always been radiant in his joy, infectious even. It’s one of the few things that can crack through the bone-thick armor that Bucky often wraps himself in, protecting the soft, vulnerable parts of his heart that no one but Steve can even get close enough to reach in the first place. His prickly façade is more than enough to keep the others at a respectable distance, and that's perfectly fine as far as Bucky’s concerned, but Steve takes one look at the gloom that surrounds Bucky and pierces right through it with the sunlit-warmth of his smile and the clear, sky-blue of his eyes. Even on some of his worst days, Bucky can’t help but gravitate towards it, leaning into Steve’s aura like a flower seeking out the sun.

Bucky is abruptly startled from his revelry by the snapping of Steve’s fingers, pulling him back to the present. Steve’s smile has taken on a bemused sort of inflection, but his eyes are soft with concern that Bucky's all too familiar with by now. 

“You with me, Pal?” Steve asks, same as he always has when Bucky’s thoughts swallow him up. Steve must have been having one of their many one-sided conversations while Bucky wandered off down a rabbit trail of sunlit-Steve metaphors. Again. 

“Till the end of the line.” Bucky dutifully returns, just as he always has. “Getting a little tired though. Probably gonna call it a night here soon.”

“I can tell.” Steve frowns. “You’ve been zoning out a lot tonight. Not sleeping well again?”

“Never do,” Bucky says. _Not without you there beside me,_ he doesn’t say, and never will at this rate. “You know how it is.”

Steve nods because he absolutely does. 

“We can pick up the conversation another time if you need to think about it, but I do agree with Sam. Getting out of the city--just the two of us for a while. Might do us some good.”

Bucky has to agree with Sam there, even though he’s not exactly enthusiastic about the camping aspect of it. Bucky has become somewhat of a house cat post-retirement, and the thought of braving the great outdoors when the comforts of home are still an option leaves a bad taste in his mouth. But for Steve, there is literally nothing Bucky wouldn’t do just to be closer to him. Sleeping on the cold, hard, bug-infested ground included, unfortunately.

“Besides,” Steve adds belatedly, and that shit-eating grin is back on his stupidly handsome face again. Bucky sighs internally at the sight of it because he already knows what’s coming. “Spending quality time with you is hardly a hardship. Even if I do end up getting mauled by a raccoon that isn’t you.”

"Suck my dick, Rogers," Bucky grumbles with a roll of his eyes, trying his hardest to appear unamused, but Steve’s laughing at his own lame-ass joke as if he's fucking Bob Hope incarnate, and Bucky loses that particular battle pretty spectacularly when he too erupts into a fountain of giggles at his own expense.

"Maybe later." Steve winks, and Bucky’s entire body flushes a bright scarlet at the mere notion of such a thing. Steve's joking, Bucky knows, but _still._ Bucky would gladly give his left arm–again– just to feel those soft lips wrap around his cock, sucking him in deep and slow. But that'll never happen, because they're just not like that with each other, and they never will be.

Though, that’s never stopped Bucky from selfishly hoping that one day things can be different between them. He’s been burning this particular candle for Steve since he was a confused fourteen-year-old that couldn’t stop staring at his best friend’s mouth. That hasn’t changed much, admittedly. If anything, Bucky’s just gotten better at hiding it from him.

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” Bucky fires back, just as playfully as Steve had. The only difference is that he’s definitely _not_ joking. He changes the subject when Steve doesn’t return fire, switching back to the dreaded topic at hand as the conversation winds down to a close.

“Did Wilson have a place in mind? Or was he just expecting us to drop us into the middle of a secluded forest and leave us for dead?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s holding up a colorful pamphlet for a campground just outside of the city. It’s incredibly “Friday the 13th”, like that one place Bucky’s Ma sent him for the summer when he was ten. Bucky isn’t impressed.

“Shady Oak Campground and RV Park,” Bucky reads, squinting against the glare the overhead lights are casting against the glossy paper surface. “Sounds promising. Is Jason Voorhees gonna stick me with his machete? Cause’ I'm gonna have to pass if it’s not part of the entertainment package.”

“Why are you like this?”

“I ask myself the same question about you, Steven. On a goddamn daily basis.”

Steve huffs indignantly, rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time that evening. Bucky just stares accusingly, one bushy eyebrow raised. Steve’s the first to crack, his scowl twisting into a bemused grin.

“Ok, fine. But you’re no better than I am when it comes to theatrics, Buck.”

Bucky grins. “Must be why we make such a great pair, hm?”

“Or the worst.” Steve counters, but Bucky knows he doesn’t really believe that, even though he technically beat the shit out of Tony Stark in Bucky’s defense. Well, they _both_ did, but it’s not like they were given much of a choice at the time. 

“Anyway,” Bucky starts, changing the subject. “I’ll indulge you on your little foray into nature, but there’s no way we’re staying there. If we’re gonna do this, we might as well do it right. Which means no Camp Crystal Lake–or whatever cursed place Wilson was trying to ship us off to. We camp like men, Steve. Dysentery and poison ivy await us.”

Steve simply shrugs, shaking his head, not offering much in terms of an argument, for once, and Bucky’s left feeling hopeful even though he’s going to get bit to shit by mosquitoes the second they step foot into the Catskills, where they’ll inevitably be heading. In the background, Steve’s phone chimes with an incoming call, and Steve’s face does something complicated as he picks it up to see who it is.

“Hey, Sharon,” Steve answers, and is his voice pitching deeper, or is Bucky just imagining things? Steve’s eyes shift over to Bucky, offering a silent apology as he continues to speak. “Can you hang on for a sec? I’m on another call, but we were just finishing up.”

Welp, good feeling’s gone.

Steve mutes the call with Sharon and turns back to give his attention to Bucky one last time. It’s immature for Bucky to be feeling so spiteful over this, he knows, because Sharon really is a lovely woman, but still… That goddamn kiss they shared while Bucky was stuffed into the backseat of a Volkswagen bug is the stuff of nightmares. _His nightmares_ , to be exact, even though Steve’s never said he and Sharon were anything exclusive. Although, he never has to. It’s in the subtext.

“Sorry, Buck, I gotta take this,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky puts on his best supportive smile, same as he did the moment Steve caught him looking from the backseat of that car. “But i’ll swing by on Friday to pick you up, so be ready to go by noon, alright?”

Bucky gives Steve a sloppy salute. “You got it. Tell Sharon I said hi.” 

“Will do.” Steve’s eyes soften, and he looks as if he wants to say something else to that, but in the end, he merely smiles and bids Bucky a good night.

“Night, Stevie.” Bucky sighs as the call ends. The screen returns to the video call homepage, and for a moment, Bucky can only stare longingly at Steve’s icon, wondering when or if he’ll ever be able to work up the nerve to tell him how he feels.

At his feet, Alpine stares accusingly up at him, kneading her sharp claws into the meat of his thighs as recompense for her imagined slights. She’s never been particularly enthusiastic about sharing Bucky’s attention with Steve, or Steve in general if Bucky thinks about it. It must just be something about Steve’s face that sets her off into a tailspin of murderous intent because Alpine’s as docile as a kitten with literally anyone else _but_ Steve.

Feeling defeated, Bucky slumps back into his chair, allowing Alpine to hop into his lap, which she does with only a hint of hesitation; first making sure the offending blond man has vanished from Bucky’s laptop before she makes that particular commitment.

Bucky lets out a long-suffering sigh, scratching idly behind Alpine’s fuzzy ears. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

Her blue eyes narrow a little, almost like she’s scowling at him. Judging him for his lack of a spine when it comes to Steve, or dealing with his feelings in general. Or maybe just that he chooses to deal with Steve at all. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s just projecting onto her anyway, since he refuses to speak to another human soul about his emotions. Hydra kind of fucked him up a little on that front. 

...Well, ok, maybe _a lot,_ but still. 

Bucky’s never been the best at communicating his feelings. Even when he was a certified ladies man in the 40s, Bucky always hid his true self behind an impenetrable wall of imperceptibility. He showed the world what they wanted to see, gave the girls–and even a few of the boys who were interested–exactly what they wanted, which was a heat of the moment fling fueled by alcohol and lowered inhibitions. There was never anyone, besides Steve and a few members of Bucky’s own family, that really knew who he was or what he wanted out of life. That hasn’t changed much over the years. If anything, the list of people he allows within touching distance only narrowed significantly after his family died. Steve is all he has left.

Alpine chirps at him, flicking her tail a bit irritably as if to remind him that she’s here to put up with his bullshit too. Of course, in the back of his mind, Bucky knows that she couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his issues with Steve. Most likely, she’s pissed about her food bowl being empty, because along with her prickly disposition, Alpine has an appetite that could easily match Bucky’s. Still, he can’t help but pretend that she cares about his problems, and because he’s pushed everyone else besides Steve away, Bucky has no one else who would even care to listen.

“I know,” Bucky sighs, “But what do you want me to do about it?”

Alpine yowls, batting her paw against his chest. 

“He’s with Sharon!” Bucky argues, mostly to himself because his cat, unfortunately, isn’t bringing anything of note to this conversation. “I mean, if he wanted to be with me, he would be. Besides, Steve’s had over eighty years to make his move.”

Alpine looks as if she wants to roll her eyes at him. He doesn’t blame her, but he also can’t help himself when it comes to self-depreciation. It’s literally burned into his brain to second guess each step he takes without Hydra there to beat him back into submission. Technically, each breath taken post-Hydra’s downfall is a willful act of insubordination, and it's thrilling as much as it is terrifying.

“He certainly didn’t hesitate with Sharon.” He adds bitterly. “Or Peggy. What is it with Steve and Carter women anyway? Is it weird? It's definitely weird, right?”

Alpine doesn’t answer Bucky’s question, or react to his theatrics beyond the pointed glare she shoots him. Through entertaining Bucky’s depressing spiral into lovesick pining, she hops back down to the floor and trots to the kitchen to inspect her still-empty food bowl, and Bucky is left, once again, to wallow in his tragedies alone.

~~~♧~~~

By Thursday afternoon, Bucky has finally worked up the courage to call up Natasha and secure lodging for Alpine while he’s away. She doesn’t ask too many questions–thankfully–but then again it’s Natasha, and she doesn’t need to ask him a damn thing to know what’s going on. She’s scarily perceptive like that, just the way the Soldier taught her to be.

It helps that Alpine and Liho get along like a house on fire, so Bucky knows she won’t miss him much while he’s secretly pining for Steve in a forest of literal pine. It also helps that Natasha seems to love Alpine like one of her own, so he knows she’ll be well taken care of. So, with Alpine all squared away, all Bucky really has to worry about is packing for the trip, which Steve said would last from Friday afternoon to Sunday morning. Apparently, Steve has a prior engagement with Sharon that following Monday that he can’t afford to miss, because of course he does, so their little therapy session with nature will only last the weekend.

 _Wonderful_ , Bucky thinks to himself, seriously contemplating confronting Steve on what exactly he thinks he’s doing with Sharon while they’re away, with no distractions to interfere. He just wants a straight answer from Steve, so he’ll know once and for all if something more between them is off the table for good. Bucky’s not going to aggressively push the matter if he doesn’t have to, but it’s literal hell to have hope hanging over his head where he can just barely reach it. Maybe, if things go well and Bucky’s feeling particularly brave, he’ll finally have that talk with Steve he’s been shoving to the back burner for the past century.

He doubts it’ll actually happen the way it’s periodically played out in his mind since he was a lovesick seventeen-year-old, but regardless, it’s a conversation they need to have...eventually.

He packs three days worth of clothes and some simple toiletries into his backpack, along with some power bars and a tall canteen of water. Steve claimed that he’d be bringing most of the food and the tent in which they’d be _sharing_ , and all Bucky really had to do was make sure he wasn’t wearing the same pair of underwear three days in a row. Simple enough, he supposed. Steve’s considerate like that, when he’s not driving Bucky absolutely _bonkers_ with his risk-taking behavior and his odd penchant for chasing after partners with vague familial relations to each other.

He grabs his bedroll, a pillow, and a nice thick blanket that’s large enough for two grown men to share–for no reason at all, of course. At least not one that Bucky’s willing to admit, that is–and sends Steve a text on Thursday night letting him know he’s ready to go come noon the following day. He gets a winky face emoji and a thumbs up from Steve for his trouble, and a swarm of butterflies swirls inside his belly at the sight of it. But predictably, the rational part of Bucky’s brain barges right in to piss on his parade, reminding him that it was probably just a mistake–because Steve has a bad habit of sending the wrong emojis since his thumbs are too big for the screen, and he doesn’t know what half of them truly means–and that even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t mean what Bucky desperately wants it to mean. 

Bucky has to remind himself that their relationship isn’t romantic, no matter how much he wants it to be, and that this trip, unfortunately, doesn’t change that. Bucky and Steve are friends, _best friends_ , really, and Bucky should be happy that he has such a loving bond with Steve that’s stood the test of time. Still, the greedy part of Bucky’s heart can’t help but want more. It always has, and it always will.


	2. Chapter 2

“Thanks for watching her for me, Nat.” Bucky awkwardly murmurs from the doorway to his apartment, pasting on what he hopes is a warm smile to his face as he hands over his cat to the woman he shot twice with intent to kill. Natasha gives him an assessing–and quite frankly, invasive–look at that, clearly not buying whatever Bucky’s trying to sell, but Bucky knows that she’s been in this situation a few times before, and genuinely understands how awkward and weird it is to try and be friendly with someone that you once tried to murder. 

Of course, Natasha’s the furthest thing from the unquestioning Red Room operative she once was, but sometimes, the wires in Bucky’s fucked up brain still end up getting crossed, and the threat her presence used to pose to him returns to the forefront of his mind like a blaring klaxon in the dead of night.

“It’s no trouble. Alpine’s like one of my own, Yasha.” She says in return, still opting to use the name she’d given him in another life, back when they both just needed something tangible to hold on to, lest they slip into the darkened waters of their own minds completely, never to resurface. 

Bucky’s heart clenches painfully at the implication she’s wordlessly laying out for him. One he feels he doesn’t yet deserve, and probably never will, if Tony has anything to say about it. Steve and the Avengers are family to her, and Bucky is an adopted extension of that, no matter how vehemently he fights against it. 

Understandably, the concept of found family terrifies Bucky to his core, so much so that he’s driven a sizable wedge between himself and anyone other than Steve that tries to get too close to him. He’s already tasted the bitter sting of mortality with his own family, watching from a distance as Becca succumbed to the slow decay of time while he remained just as young as the day the serum was forcibly pumped into his veins. In Bucky’s mind, If he allows these people to make a home within his heart, Bucky will only be opening himself up to more pain when he inevitably loses them, and Bucky’s already endured more suffering than anyone ever should. He isn’t about to let Natalia Romanova drive another nail into his coffin, no matter how much his heart warms at the sight of her.

Bucky’s smile turns tight around the edges as he tries to think of something appropriate to say to that, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot as the unrequited sentiment hangs heavily in the space between them. Though mercifully, Natasha doesn’t let the moment last much longer. She nods sharply in understanding, readjusting her grip on a surprisingly pliant Alpine as she shoulders the duffle bag Bucky just handed her; stuffed full of anything and everything Alpine might need while he’s away, and turns on her heel to stride back down the hallway towards the elevators.

“You know, It’s okay to let yourself be happy, Yasha,” Nat suddenly says, stopping just shy of the elevator banks to level him with a knowing look that feels like a knife cutting into his skin. Her perfectly crafted words pierce the space in between Bucky’s ribs, the blade effortlessly tearing into his still-beating heart. “This is a good thing, you and Steve. It’s okay to chase after it.”

Bucky clutches at his chest, blindly feeling around for the hilt of the dagger that isn’t actually there. But still, Bucky knows better than anyone that reality is nothing more than a concept, and right now, his brain is screaming at him that he’s just been stabbed. For a long, dizzying moment, Bucky can’t breathe– _can’t think_ –because if Natasha knows how hopelessly in love he is with Steve, then maybe Steve knows how pathetic he is as well. Knows, but chooses not to address it for one reason or another. Most likely because he doesn't feel the same way about Bucky.

The thought abruptly drags his head underneath the waves like a riptide, and Bucky sinks into the darkened sea of that reality like a stone. 

“I can’t.” Bucky chokes against the water filling up his lungs, reaching out for a hand to pull him back up to the surface.

“Can’t, or won’t?”

Natasha’s response isn’t the buoy Bucky hoped it would be, be regardless, he reaches out for it all the same, grabbing onto it until his knuckles turned bone-white. It’s not lost on Bucky that Natasha is speaking from experience here, and that the happiness she eventually let herself find with Maria Hill was something she’d grappled with for a long time, believing for years that she wasn’t worthy of love due to the things she’d done in another life. Of course, that wasn’t true, and thanks to the Avengers and Maria, Natasha knows that now as well. It’s possible that she sees a bit of herself in Bucky because the similarities in their stories are often overwhelming, however, just because Natasha ended up with a new beginning full of love and acceptance didn't mean that Bucky was entitled to one as well. If it were up to Ross and Stark, Bucky would be spending the rest of his miserable existence in a 6x8 inch cell, with nothing and no one but the demons in his head for company.

Of course, it’s not up to them, thank God, because Steve, Sam, and Nat went to bat for him when no one else would, but still, the truth of it remains. Stark hates him, most of the Avengers are indifferent towards him, and until now, it really seemed as if Steve was the only one that cared if he lived or died. Most of the time, Bucky’s convinced Steve only keeps him around because of their shared past, holding on to Bucky like an old, ragged blanket from his childhood that really should’ve just been tossed in the garbage bin by now. Sometimes, Bucky’s half-tempted to do it himself, but he’s too much of a selfish coward to pull himself away from Steve, even if it only ends up hurting him in the end.

If Bucky’s honest with himself, he deserves whatever pain is heading his way with Steve, and he most certainly has not earned a new beginning like Nat. He just doesn’t know how to tell her that.

“I–” Bucky hesitates, anxiously chewing on his lip as he scrambles to string together a passable excuse. “We aren't–me and Steve, we're not –It’s complicated, Nat.”

“No, it isn’t.” Nat offers him a gentle smile, laughing mirthlessly as she steps into the elevator. Bucky has no idea what she means by that. His relationship with Steve has always been complicated, mostly by Bucky’s stupid feelings that he can’t seem to keep a lid on. However, Nat doesn’t seem to buy that.

“What have you got to lose?” She says as the doors to the elevator close, and this time, she's not waiting around to hear Bucky’s stuttering line of excuses. Bucky doesn't blame her, of course, but he answers regardless.

“Everything.”

* * *

Steve’s beat-up truck–which he undoubtedly borrowed from Clint–pulls up to the front of his apartment at a quarter to noon, because Steve’s never showed up late to anything in his ridiculously long life–except for that long-overdue dance with Peggy he never shuts up about. 

Bucky’s still a little salty about that one if he’s being honest with himself. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s tried to get Steve to dance with him in the cramped corner of their kitchen while the voices on the radio crooned out love songs that were practically tailor-made for the two of them. Unfortunately, Bucky’s efforts were always shot down with extreme prejudice. Every. Single. Time.

If Bucky had known then that all he had to do was wear a tight red dress and coif his hair in victory rolls, well, he’d have gladly done that decades ago. Still, a small part of Bucky feels ugly for being so jealous of the spark Steve and Peggy shared for those few months they knew each other, but on the other hand, Bucky’s always been a little possessive over Steve–a trait which has only gotten stronger post-Hydra, where you’d basically have to pry anything Bucky considered his from his cold, dead hands. Steve’s always been his, in one way or another, and Bucky will always be reluctant to let that go. 

One day, eventually, Bucky knows he’ll have to. Especially with the way Steve and Sharon are cozying up to each other. He’s just not ready or willing to take that step yet.

At the sound of a boisterous knock on his front door, Bucky gathers up his gear with a long-suffering huff, scanning the apartment one final time for anything he might have forgotten to pack before they head out for the weekend. He makes a quick sweep of the bathroom, moving to his bedroom when all his toiletries are safely tucked into his backpack where they belong. Another knock sounds at the door, followed by the impatient buzzing of an incoming message on his phone when Bucky doesn’t magically appear in the doorway like he’s some war bride welcoming his long-lost husband home.

“Just a sec!” Bucky shouts, grinning to himself as the fantasy of being Steve’s dedicated housewife plays itself out inside his head. Just as it has a million times before. 

He’s about to head for the door when the sight of something familiar catches his eye on the nightstand. It's his trusty bottle of lube, and even though he knows he really shouldn't, Bucky’s mind is suddenly– _gleefully_ – wandering down a filthy path full of what-if scenarios he just can't help but entertain, even though it’ll most likely end up with him crying into his pillow when he realizes just how unrealistic they are.

What if this little trip into the woods was just the sort of catalyst Bucky’s been waiting for to finally make his move with Steve? What if Steve is thinking the same thing, and that's the reason why he's been pushing so hard to get Bucky alone? 

But, almost as soon as that thought pops into his head, Bucky's dutifully reminded that they've been alone with each other at least a thousand times since Bucky’s come back from the brink of his own destruction, and Steve’s never even eluded to the fact that he might be into Bucky in an _'I desperately wanna bend him over the kitchen counter and make him squeal'_ kind of way.

If anything, Steve’s only reinforced the reality that Bucky is nothing more than a dear friend to him, you know, because friends tend to tear apart their found family and become a wanted fugitive for the people they're _not_ desperately in love with. 

Admittedly, Bucky’s made many sacrifices in the name of love, including laying down his life for Steve on more than one occasion. But then again, so has Steve, and once again, Bucky’s forced to reconsider that maybe they're just a bunch of self-sacrificial idiots when it comes to one another, and it's really not as deep as he wants it to be.

Plus there's that whole thing he’s got going on with Sharon that Bucky refuses to look too deeply into, lest he discovers something he really won't like; such as an engagement ring, or something equally as horrifying, like a house with a white picket fence, 2.5 kids and a dog they name after Bucky to "honor his memory" or some shit.

But then again, what if– _for once_ –Bucky’s right on this, and Steve _is_ trying to make his move on Bucky?

They'll definitely need lube for that big of a reveal, now wouldn't they? Especially if Steve’s been waiting nearly as long as Bucky to get his hands on all those delectably forbidden places he's never had the pleasure of touching before.

The fact that they'll be essentially secluded in a picturesque bubble full of pine trees while all this is going down just makes it all the more romantically erotic. Just like those cheesy Hallmark movies Bucky loves to indulge in.

For a long moment, Bucky's frozen with indecision as he stands near the entryway to his bedroom, biting his lip as he briefly weighs the pros and cons of taking a bottle of lube out into the wilderness. 

Immediately, two main questions pop into Bucky’s head: Is it even practical to bring lube on a camping trip with his best friend/hopefully eventual lover, and what is Bucky supposed to say if Steve were to accidentally stumble upon it and start asking questions?

Well, the answer to the first question is a resounding yes. The little tin of slick they used to give out to soldiers in those ARP medkits–which were mainly supposed to be used for first aid purposes but ultimately found use in other, _more exciting_ ways–was proof enough of that. Sure, this is high-grade silicone lube and not a tin of Vaseline, but still, Bucky can’t deny that lube has its purposes outside of the bedroom. 

Lube is multifunctional, Bucky thinks a bit hysterically as he swipes the bottle from its place on the nightstand, good for slicking up all sorts of big things that need a little help sliding into tight places. It would be stupid _not_ to bring it along, really, because what would happen if they ran into a situation where silicone lubricant was desperately needed, and Bucky wasn’t equipped to handle it?

He shudders at the thought. 

So, lube is indeed a practical item to take whilst one is camping, Bucky concludes with a slight nod of his head, grinning to himself as he stuffs the little bottle into the inner pouch of his backpack. 

_But,_ on the off chance that Bucky is horribly mistaken about Steve’s intentions, and Steve starts asking questions about why Bucky’s carrying sex lube on him when they’re just a couple of guys being dudes and nothing more, well, there's always his tried and true, knee-jerk reaction of fervent denial that's always saved his ass in the past, because he doubts telling Steve the truth would go over well. 

Steve’s never given him a reason to think they might somehow break through the protective bubble of friendship they've been stuck in for the past eighty-something years, but even knowing that as well as he does, Bucky's still hopeful that this time, they finally will.

With that thought in mind, Bucky swallows down the lump of indecision that's built up in his throat for the past two minutes and heads for the door.

Steve, of course, is happily waiting in front of the threshold when Bucky pulls the door open, grinning like an overexcited golden retriever that's just been shown his leash.

"Bout time you showed up. I was just about to send in a search party." Steve chirps with a cheeky grin, throwing one of his deliciously thick arms over Bucky’s shoulder to pull him into a crushing hug. 

Bucky does his best _'ice on hot pavement'_ impression and melts into Steve’s embrace, letting the sharp, spicy scent of his fancy deodorant fill up his nose. Bucky takes a few imperceptible whiffs as he breathes in, noticing the distinct absence of perfume that should be clinging to Steve’s collar, which is _very interesting_ if Bucky stops to think about it. 

They'll be gone for days, and Steve didn’t think it was pertinent to at least _hug_ Sharon goodbye before he disappeared into the forest with the same guy that's been doodling hearts around Steve’s name since the second grade?

Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat at the implication that leaves hanging in the scant space between them, but he forces himself to chill the fuck out for a second and consider the fact that he’s probably just overthinking things again. 

But still... _what if_?

"Yeah, well, you know me. Always gotta be prepared." Bucky mumbles into the sweater-covered meat of Steve’s shoulder, absolutely refusing to think about the bottle of lube he'd just shoved into the hidden compartment of his backpack as they pull away from each other.

“Once a boy scout, always a boy scout, hm?” Steve says, parroting back the words Bucky had once used on Steve a few millennia ago, when Bucky had reluctantly spent the summer learning _“how to be a man”_ with a bunch of other kids his age. All at his father’s behest, of course. He came back from that little adventure with a cocksure grin and a bit of an annoying superiority complex because he now knew how to start a fire and tie a slipknot, and Steve didn’t. 

He cringes at the memory of it, even now as Steve leads him toward the elevator, sharing idle chit chat all the while about this and that. His arm is still casually draped around Bucky’s shoulders, as if he couldn’t fathom the thought of such a ridiculous thing as personal space. Not that Bucky’s complaining, really. If anything, the moment they finally break apart in the elevator is what bothers him. But like always, Bucky bites his tongue and says nothing about it, pasting a convincing enough smile on his face and acting as if his body isn’t desperately crying out for the heat of Steve’s touch like he’d die if he didn't get it again in the next few seconds. Just as he has a thousand times before.

“You good to go?” Steve asks once they reach the truck out front. It’s a hideous thing, really–a ‘95 powder blue Toyota with a broken tail light and a missing rim on the left rear tire–but Bucky doesn’t expect much else from Barton, who’s the human equivalent of a dumpster fire. Still, it’s a vehicle with four-wheel drive and a flatbed, and that’s all they really need for the next few days, so Bucky keeps his mouth shut and obediently slides into the passenger seat, watching raptly as Steve rounds the front of the truck and slips into the driver’s side beside him.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers as Steve turns the key and starts the engine, gritting his teeth at the godawful sound that fills up the cab when the engine sputters and dies a few times before finally roaring to life. “Nat’s got Alpine and said she’d pick up any mail that’s delivered to my place from now until we get back, so I’m as good to go as I’m gonna get for this. Still don't know why you're so insistent we go camping but...I'm here.”

“Wait–Nat’s got Al?” 

Steve seems surprised by this, even though he knows by now how good Nat is with animals. Or maybe it’s just the fact that Bucky reached out to her in the first place that’s taken him by surprise. Either way, the implication isn't good.

“Yeah, why?” Bucky arches one bushy brow at Steve, suddenly feeling as if he’d done something he shouldn’t have. “Was I not supposed to–”

“No, no!” Steve interjects, holding up his hands in the universal gesture for _‘that’s not what I meant.’_ “I’m just...surprised that you’d asked her, I guess. Relieved, actually.”

He says that last part under his breath, as if to himself, and Bucky isn’t really sure how he’s supposed to react to that, given the fact that he obviously heard every word of it. Steve, of course, doesn’t even give him the opportunity to try and explain himself. He turns the blinding light of his smile on Bucky, then, reaching out to place his hand on Bucky’s knee. The warmth that seeps through Bucky’s jeans nearly has him going cross-eyed at how good it feels, and the reassuring little squeeze he gives Bucky’s thigh a moment later has his brain momentarily going offline. Thankfully, he still has enough wherewithal to bite back the telling whimper that would’ve instantly given him away, and Bucky’s thankful for that at the very least, even though his dick hasn't exactly gotten the memo on that yet.

“I’m glad you’re doing this with me, Buck,” he says, and Bucky practically melts into the cracked leather of the seat behind him at how genuine and sincere those words truly are. “I’ve been wanting to spend some more time with you since...well, _y'know_ , and I honestly think this’ll do us some good. Don't you think?”

Bucky wordlessly nods his head, mostly because his tongue is currently a leaden weight in his mouth and he doesn’t think much more than an undignified squawk would pour out if he even tried to speak right now. Not with Steve’s hand still squeezing his thigh.

"Yeah," Steve nods in agreement. His hand, unfortunately, leaves Bucky’s thigh to grip the steering wheel as he puts the truck in drive and heads out onto the road. "This is just what we need. Just you, me, and the trees, Buck. No distractions, no worries. Just us."

Yeah, Bucky nervously chuckles to himself as they merge onto the highway, just the two of them– _alone_ – for two whole days. What could possibly go wrong?

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think ❤🥰


End file.
